


Prismatic

by najio



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baby Blake!, Blake backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gaslighting, Manipulative Relationship, Panic Attacks, Present Tense, but absolutely NO SMUT of ANY KIND, implications goatman's bad behavior extends into sex, more warnings over Sienna's and Adam's chapters bc that's where the scariest tags are from, there's also some acknowledgement of the Very Creepy age gap between Adam and Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/najio/pseuds/najio
Summary: Blake Belladonna, as told by six people who love her (and one who took control and called it love).
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Adam Taurus (non-endgame), Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 25
Kudos: 90





	1. Ghira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder that, well, this is a Blake backstory. So. Beware of non-endgame Tauradonna and Adam being a creep, mostly in his and Sienna's chapters.

Blake is curious. Humans will make something of that, someday, Ghira is sure. Almost as sure as he is that she won't let that stop her.

It can be... challenging. She's not even crawling yet, and already knows how to roll around in search of new places to explore and new ways to give Ghira a heart attack. But he can never find it in himself to be angry when she looks up at him with her gold eyes wide with wonder.

Those eyes are what finally tip the scales. He and Kali have been building up the White Fang in Menagerie for years—it was already in its first stages when they met, with her fresh off the boat from Mistral. But when Blake toddles up to him and opens her hands, and a tiny iridescent beetle flutters out, he knows they have to expand. No matter how safe they make Menagerie, it'll always be a cage. His cub deserves a whole wide world to explore.

The humans are quick to make a show of support for this "new" movement. Never mind that any faunus could have told them the White Fang has been around for more than a decade, or that it's an amalgamation of dozens of smaller organizations, some of which predate the Great War. And of course, the humans' support never seems to turn into actual practical change. Ghira knows his way around this sort of thing by now. He's learned patience dozens and hundreds of times. Maybe one of these days it will stick.

He worries about Blake, though. She's only six when they reach Mistral, and she's the only child in their group. Sure, she gets along well with the adults, particularly Sienna, and she seems perfectly happy to listen to them talk politics—which is actually a little frightening all on its own—but there's also the matter of education.

They can't enroll her in a normal school. The White Fang tends to wear out its welcome quickly, according to the humans in the towns they visit, so they're constantly on the move. It's a damn miracle they meet Tukson, fresh from a job teaching young children in Argus. A damn shame, too. As far as Ghira is concerned, they prove without a shadow of a doubt he was fired because he was outed as a faunus, but the jury disagrees.

Ghira can't pay as well as his old job, but he's justifiably angry and ready to push back however he can. So every weekday, for somewhere between four and seven hours depending on how much they can squeeze in, Tukson sits with Blake in the back of a wagon and teaches her math, reading, history... and all of a sudden, she can never get her hands on enough books.

Kali does her best to track down a library card in each new town they visit. When she's turned away, Tukson waltzes right in and out and hands off the little plastic card to Blake. Ghira doesn't like that—it feels wrong to ask it of him, for one thing, and worse to sidestep the discrimination they're supposed to be fighting.

When he voices this aloud, Kali rolls her eyes fondly and pats him on the shoulder. "We can't spend months getting a library card in every town we visit, Ghira, or we'd never get anything else done. The bigger picture has to come first."

Tukson only smiles and says, "It's the least I can do."

"I still say Blake should get to keep a book," Sienna adds, with a devilish twinkle in her eyes. "They'd change their tune a lot faster if something went missing every time they decided to act like pricks."

Ghira chuckles and shakes his head.

On their first library visit, he tries to gently suggest to Blake that she should put a few of the books back. She's loaded her arms up with everything she can carry, and they're only staying here for a few more days. She hugs them protectively against her chest and insists she can read them all in time. And, to his astonishment, she does.

It's like a light switches on behind her eyes. Ghira finds himself sitting up in their camp long after she ought to be in bed, watching fondly and petting her ears as she flips page after page. He's never really understood the draw of fiction (except maybe the books Kali likes, but those aren't exactly appropriate for a seven-year-old). For Blake it's the exact same thrill as finding a hidden forest path, or climbing onto the roof of a wagon to see the road from a new vantage point. It's discovery.

Tukson has the sense to incorporate the books she's reading into his teaching, and to spin his history lessons into stories for her. Her attention drops off a bit in math and science, but Ghira considers it a small price to pay for finding a passion like that.

For a while, it almost looks like the books will keep her out of trouble. Ghira makes the mistake of saying this to Kali—she laughs harder than he thinks is warranted, until the next morning when Blake proves her right by proudly presenting them with a very interesting (and very venomous) spider.

It's his final and deepest fear. There's Grimm and worse out on the roads, and Blake is the sort of child who never sits in the same place twice. She explores caves, climbs trees and cliffs, often with a book to read once she's found a nice spot. And _gods,_ but she keeps forgetting to tell them where she's going and he's not sure his heart can take one more frantic search.

When she's not wandering off in the wilderness, she's doing it in cities, which is almost worse. He and Kali tell her over and over that she shouldn't talk to strangers, but it never sticks. Ghira's almost glad of the times she comes back to their camp dragging another child along by the wrist. It helps him feel a little less guilty about how often they have to move her, that she makes friends so easily.

Sometimes the new friends aren't children, but rather bemused adults. Other faunus, usually, making sure she gets back to her parents. There's also the occasional human, which makes him anxious and wary despite himself, but at worst they turn out to be a little awkward and unused to meeting faunus. Blake's a good judge of character. Even so, she only has to be wrong once.

Ghira's almost always busy with something, and Kali isn't much better off, but the whole community chips in to keep Blake safe. Tukson has a knack for tracking down which bookstore she's wandered off to, and often comes back with a sheepish grin and an armful of beat-up paperbacks she's rescued from a bargain bin. Sienna teaches her what to do if someone tries to grab her, including screaming for help and a few targeted kicks that make him wince.

He never stops worrying... but he never tries to stop her, either. How can he, when she still carries that same spark in her eyes that inspired him to come out here in the first place? He can see it when he looks at her—himself as a footnote in some history book, two hundred years from now, remembered only because he was her father. She's going to do great things with that light of hers, and Ghira can't imagine a worse thing in the world than to snuff it out.


	2. Ilia

Blake is brave.

Ilia's never met someone brave, before. Her whole life's been an endless parade of humans living in terror of miners too exhausted to lift their heads, and faunus who have no room for courage in the daily struggle for survival. It's almost silly, the way Blake shouts at humans twice her size and waves that little sign in their faces like it'll do a damn thing.

Almost.

The White Fang is just a place to stay, when Blake first drags her there. They get her out of juvie, and it's not like she has anywhere else to go. She's thirteen but feels much older. Too old to see anything worth smiling about in a picket line, until Blake changes that for her.

It's not like the thought of fighting back is some big revelation. Ilia knows a thing or two about that, but there's something in the way Blake walks with her head high and her ears perked tall that's nothing at all like Ilia's kind of fighting.

Her kind of fighting is raw. Impulsive. It doesn't make things better—it just vents a little of the pressure boiling under her skin. Blake's kind of fighting makes her feel like they can actually win. Ilia wants to learn to be like that, too, but she isn't brave. She hides instinctively, trapping who she is under her skin while Blake wears it free and proud no matter how many humans sneer at her.

When she realizes she's in love, she hides that, too. Because the last girl she had a crush on laughed with all the others when her parents died. Because the High Leader's daughter couldn't possibly want some piece of Mantle trash. Because Blake is in the vanguard, saving the world, and Ilia has nothing to offer that she didn't steal by pretending to be human. Because, because, because. Because she's a coward.

That's why they meet him. The White Fang goes down into a mine, to recruit protesters for a new child labor law, and Ilia can't do it. She tries, but the whole world presses down on the air inside and she can't breathe and _what if—_

So Blake takes her by the elbow and leads her back outside, and instead they go to the workers' barracks. It's the middle of the day, so it's empty except for a man lying on his side at the back of the room. He sits up when they enter, and Ilia recoils. There's a bandage across the left side of his face, stained a filthy yellow-red, but it's his other eye that scares her. It's wild and feverish, and it looks too much like her own did, in an Academy bathroom mirror as she scrubbed blood off her knuckles.

Blake isn't afraid. She comes closer.

"Hi," she says. "I'm Blake. I'm with the White Fang."

"I know." He doesn't get out of bed. "I heard the noise."

"Can I ask... what happened to your eye?"

His laugh is bitter. "An unfortunate accident."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen," he replies, automatically. Then he blinks, and grins. "I've been eighteen for the last five years."

Maybe it's the smile. Maybe it's the thought of being stuck in that deadly pit at her age, and the horrified sympathy that follows. Whatever it is, he's suddenly not so frightening. It's enough for Ilia to get her voice back. "How old are you _really,_ then?"

"Stopped lying last month."

"That's awful." Blake fumbles a brochure out of her pocket. "If—if you want, we're here because of this new law. It's supposed to make it legal for kids to work any job as young as twelve, if they have parental permission. But there's this loophole where guardians can sign off on it too, and employers could count as guardians if there's no one else. It would make it easier for mine owners to do what they did to you to other faunus."

The words seem to put a little life back into him. He sits up straighter, and Ilia realizes for the first time that he's taller than them, even sitting in bed. "You're here to fight them?"

"We're protesters, not a militia. We're still fighting, just... with pickets and signs, not guns."

"Signs."

The spark that just kindled in his eye vanishes, but Blake isn't fazed. "We're not using violence, but that doesn't mean we're not standing up for ourselves. It's about... showing them that we're not what they keep telling us to be. That even if they hurt us, we can rise above it. Because we're better than that."

"I like that," he says. Slowly, like he's testing the idea out on his tongue. "Being better than they are."

She smiles and hands him a brochure. "I hope you'll come out tomorrow night."

"I think I will." He pushes himself to his feet. The injury must be recent—he wobbles a bit, and Blake steps forward to steady him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she stammers. And Ilia finally sees it, the way she looks away and fights down a smile.

She thought she had time. Because she can't say it now, but she's been learning how to be brave like Blake. She thought maybe, someday...

Ilia fights the green crawling under her skin. It's stupid to react like this, especially when it doesn't even mean anything. So what if Blake has a crush? He's lived a whole life in these mines, and they're both just kids to him. She'll get over it eventually, and then... maybe. Someday.


	3. Kali

Blake is young. Not a child, but still young. It leaves Kali scrambling for purchase and suddenly understanding all the wry insinuations of other parents, over the years. Just wait 'til they get to _that age..._

She never turns mean. Or sullen, or angry, or disrespectful, like older faunus have warned them, though Kali can see why they might think she has. She could call it disobedience, but it'd be a bit hypocritical to complain considering all the civil disobedience she's helped organize over the years.

No. It's not awful because of what Blake is, but because of what she isn't. She isn't the little cub she used to be anymore, and she isn't the young woman she will be yet. All this time she's been changing so slowly that Kali hardly noticed, like vines creeping up a brick wall. Now she _is_ change. She's constantly in flux, and Kali doesn't understand her anymore. Neither does Ghira. Neither, she suspects, does Blake.

It's a little sad, and a little frightening... but more than anything, it's exciting. A new Blake is on her way, and Kali can't wait to meet her. Not that she and Ghira get to do much waiting—there is, as always, work to do. The White Fang is going through a transition of its own.

Maybe it's that, or maybe just a bit of vanity on Kali's part, but sometimes it feels like Blake _is_ the White Fang. Something of Ghira, and something of Kali, and something of Sienna and Tukson and Ilia and everyone else who makes up their strange, sprawling family. And a spark of something else that came from no-one-knows-where, giving them life of their own. Both stumbling around at the same time, learning to walk and then to run. And now, both muddled and confused, getting ready to become...

Well. That's the question, isn't it? What will the White Fang become?

Everyone has an opinion. Sienna's been pushing for more extreme action for years, and most of the organization is starting to echo her. Even Tukson, the mild-mannered schoolteacher who's gone nearly a decade without raising his voice to Blake once, can't keep his temper when Ghira explains their latest strategy.

"We have to denounce these sorts of attacks," Ghira insists. "Whether we like it or not, we're judged as a group. If one faunus kills an SDC board member—"

"All the rest have to bow and scrape or be put on trial," snarls Sienna.

Tukson scowls. "Dignifying this with any kind of response sends its own message."

"And silence will be taken as approval," Ghira reminds them.

And he's right... but a denouncement carries its own hidden message. _This wasn't us,_ it says, which is true. _We're not like them,_ the humans will hear. _We're the good sort._

"Maybe we should approve," Sienna says, her face stony.

Kali flinches. She loathes— _loathed_ Sera Saccharine as much as the next faunus. On paper she's no worse and quite a bit better than most of the SDC's board, but anyone who bothers to dig a little deeper will find unofficial policies that wouldn't look out of place in pre-war Mantle. And yet... she's seen the video, and she wouldn't wish _that_ on Jacques Schnee himself.

"The purpose of the White Fang is to _build bridges."_ Ghira stands up from his chair. He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't really need to when he dwarfs the whole room, but his eyes narrow. "Acts of violence like this can only hurt us."

Sienna glares back at him, unflinching. "I had been under the impression that the _purpose_ of the White Fang was to make things better for the faunus. But I suppose it's much better to get a pat on the head from the humans for being good."

Kali sighs and massages the bridge of her nose. The meeting is effectively over, now—oh, it'll go on for another hour or two, but no one will get anything done.

The frustrating thing is that neither of them are wrong, exactly. It's easy for someone in Ghira's position—or hers, for that matter—to talk about making positive changes. They're not the ones working in Dust mines without so much as a bandana to protect their lungs. They don't have to worry every time Blake goes out that she's going to disappear.

But Kali spent all of last night fighting from nightmare to nightmare, remembering the sound of a woman she hates screaming. The worst thing about it is that there are faunus out there, right now, who recorded that. Who took pride in it. And Kali knows the rage they felt, because she can see it in herself, too. It's bubbling under all of their skins. They're a wounded people, and sometimes wounds fester.

Speaking of which...

She catches a glimpse of him as they all walk out of the meeting, agreeing about nothing except their frustration. The bandages that used to cover his left eye are gone, replaced by a pale white mask designed to mimic the Grimm.

He's been disappearing at night, always with a handful of followers. Ghira hasn't noticed. Kali isn't sure what they've been doing, but Sienna knows. She won't say, though, and Kali won't ask. The secrets he's put between them are bad enough—she won't let them turn into mistrust and infighting. Even united they're fighting a losing battle. Divided, they are lost.

Or so she tells herself, until it's Blake that vanishes in the dead of night and doesn't come back until morning. She can trust Sienna to stop him if he goes too far, but she doesn't need to know what he's doing to know that a fourteen-year-old has no place in it.

When Blake was little, Ghira and Kali had a system for keeping her safe. This was in the old days when most of their time was spent roaming from town to town, and they had to keep her in the camp where there were scouts to warn them of Grimm. Ordering her to stop wandering off to read by moonlight never worked. So they sat her down and explained the danger, and their stubborn little cub said that she'd already done it and nothing bad had happened. But even though she grumbled and complained, from then on she stayed put.

That Blake is not this one.

"I thought you said I could leave the camp if I wanted!"

"You can, I only—"

"What? I can't help?" Blake curls her hands into fists. "You always told me you were happy I was getting involved. Now you want me to stop?"

"This is _different,"_ Kali insists. "Those were nonviolent protests. I don't want you following that boy into a firefight!"

"But following you and dad into tear gas is fine."

Gods damn Ghira for giving her his gift for debate.

"I don't want you getting hurt, Blake. Or arrested, for that matter."

"You and dad—"

"I remember your father and I being arrested, _thank you."_ Kali sighs. She walked right into that one. "We were both adults by then, Blake."

"You think I'm too young."

In her frustration, Kali forgets something vitally important—Blake is the kind of young that hates being reminded of it. "Yes," she says, and Blake's eyes narrow.

"Am I supposed to sit around wishing things were better until I turn eighteen, then?"

"No, but—"

"So why are you telling me to?" Blake demands.

Kali will have years to think about what she should say, now. She could be vulnerable— _Your father and I were lucky. We could have been hurt in a thousand awful ways, and I don't want that for you._ She could try to work with Blake instead of against her— _I just want you safe. If you really want to do this, I'll go with you._ She could shut down the argument then and there— _You're not going and that's final!—_ and maybe Blake would hate her but she'd be _safe._

Kali doesn't have the way it all went wrong to guide her. All she can do is say what feels right at the time. "I know you're going to get into trouble, Blake. I did too. But I had friends like Sienna, and then I had your father. People I could trust. And this... this boy, Adam—"

Just like that, she's already lost her.

"He's not a _boy._ And at least he's doing _something!"_

Blake storms off before Kali can reply to that. Ghira's conversation with the rest of the White Fang doesn't go much better—they're done begging for scraps. He comes back to their tent with his nostrils flaring and plops down on his sleeping bag. "I can't believe this."

Kali planned on telling him about her conversation with Blake, but he's already halfway from frustration to despair, so she focuses on the problem at hand. "Can't you?"

Ghira grunts. "They're acting like it's been _easy_ building up all this goodwill. And now they want to throw it away because things aren't moving fast enough."

"They aren't. And that isn't your fault—but you can't blame faunus in more precarious circumstances than ours for wanting to try something different."

He groans and puts his face in his hands. "Not you, too."

Kali rolls her eyes. "If you wanted a yes-man you should have married the Albains. You knew what you were getting into."

That gets a chuckle out of him.

"Ghira, I know you don't want to lose what little tolerance we've managed to build up... but tolerance and respect aren't the same. Some things are more important than being liked."

"So you agree with Sienna."

He sounds so much like the surly teenaged Blake in that moment that Kali can't help but snort. "No, Ghira, I don't think we should try _stealing._ But she has other ideas, you know. More aggressive sit-ins, taking a stand even where it'll be unpopular among humans... and I do think those are worth a try."

"Even now, our members are constantly at risk of being arrested," Ghira points out. "This... I know it's not illegal, but that doesn't always matter."

Kali gives him a little half-shrug. "I _have_ missed Mistral's jails. Do you think they still have the little purple tags on the uniforms? Those were cute."

He laughs helplessly. "Kali... it's a nice thought, but things like that have consequences beyond us. The optics—"

"I know, Ghira. I know you aren't sure, and neither am I. But we're not just deciding for ourselves. How many faunus have you spoken to today who've told you they want a change of direction?"

Ghira grimaces, which is answer enough.

"I think we owe it to them to listen. Don't you?"

Two weeks later, the first major newspaper declares them a terrorist organization.

Ghira frets. So does Kali, not because of the accusation but because of what it reveals. In those two weeks, they've put out a blistering denunciation of both the faunus that murdered an SDC board member and the human assumption that they had to do so, or else be complicit. They've also been arrested in droves after walking into a council meeting in Mistral and refusing to leave until a recent push to repeal anti-discrimination laws is dismissed. And... that's it. Funny how fast all that goodwill evaporates once they become inconvenient.

Her husband has been an activist for over twenty years, now. He's well used to the fact that it's impossible to please everyone. But all of a sudden he can't please _anyone._ They're too radical for the humans, and some faunus from the old guard, but Sienna and her followers scoff and roll their eyes and call him timid.

It all comes to a head a few months later, when after a particularly grueling meeting Ghira finally puts his head in his hands and heaves a great sigh. "I think it's time to face it," he says. "I'm not what they want, anymore." Kali doesn't argue. She'll always support him, but she can't lie to him.

He steps down that evening. Sienna bows so low that her ears nearly touch the ground. Then she straightens up and embraces him, then Kali, hiding her sadness under a calm, serious frown. Her twitching ears give her away like they always do.

"I wish you could stay."

"As do I." Ghira puts a hand on her shoulder. "But I can support us better from Menagerie."

Blake doesn't see it that way.

"You're running _away?"_

"I know it looks like we are." Ghira sits down beside her on the little cot, in the little cabin on the little ship that's going to take them home. He tries to take her hand, but she pulls it away. "It's Sienna the White Fang wants, now. If I stayed, there would always be tensions over who to follow, even if I'm not officially a leader. It would only divide us—and our unity and trust in each other are all we have."

She raises her chin, and... well. Between Kali and Ghira, the stubbornness there is no surprise. "You could lead us, if you weren't too scared to fight back."

"I can't lead us down a path I don't believe in, Blake."

"You _are_ going tame." She says it so coldly that Ghira recoils.

"Blake," Kali snaps. She can disagree with them on this, on anything, but _that_ word isn't hers.

"I can't believe you!" Blake stands up, her fists clenched at her sides and her ears flat against her skull. "After all this time you'd rather act like pets than stop them? What good is—"

"That's enough." Kali is breathing hard, but it still feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Jeering human councilors and counterprotesters and police say things like that. Not her own daughter. "Where is this coming from? You know language like that isn't okay."

"My _language?"_

"Is it something he said?"

"So what if it is? Just because you never liked him, doesn't mean he's wrong."

"It's not that we don't like him. He's been through something terrible. That isn't his fault, but it doesn't excuse his actions."

"He's angry." Ghira adds. "Reckless. And he can be... violent."

Blake's eyes narrow. "He told me about that," she says, slowly. "He _saved_ you."

Ghira inclines his head. "He did. But no one needed to die, Blake."

"He didn't mean to. It was an accident, he told me—"

"Accidents like that are why we can't trust this new path, Blake," Kali says gently. "I know you care about him, and that's a good thing, but it shouldn't change who you are."

"You think _that's_ what this is about? That I'm just going along with what he thinks?"

Ghria grimaces. "Are you saying it's not about him?"

"Of course it's about him!" Blake bursts out. "It's about what they _did_ to him! What they did to Ilia, and Tukson and Sienna, and _you!_ I'm tired of asking politely for them to please stop _killing_ us!" She's breathing hard, now, and her mouth is set. "I won't run away from this."

"Blake..." His voice is soft.

Her mouth twists. It's only a flicker as her face turns away from them, as she spits the words, "I'm not a coward," through gritted teeth. But Kali sees it, and the disgust in her daughter's eyes roots her to the ground as she turns on her heel and strides out of the cabin.

Ghira opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a little croak. Kali takes one step and then another, reaches out a hand...

But this isn't an argument with that little cub—it's their daughter in flux, sculpting herself. And it's not about reading in the woods at night with Grimm about. It's Blake's future, and her choice to fight for it the way she thinks is right. It doesn't matter that she might be wrong, or how much it hurts to let her go... if it's a mistake, it's her mistake to make.

Kali runs, not to the door but to the window. Blake is halfway across the deck already. Heedless of the sailors and other passengers, she screams into the growing dusk, _"Blake!"_

She ducks her head and speeds up.

_Remember!_

She breaks into a run.

_We will always love you!_

Her outline is lost in shadow.

_Always..._


	4. Sienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... yeah. It's gonna get a bit dark here folks. Nothing graphic, and seen mostly third-hand through Sienna, but mind the tags!

Blake is Adam's little shadow. At least, that's what the new recruits call her, chuckling indulgently as she weaves between them like a puff of smoke.

Sienna hates it. She's not sure why, at first. It's certainly apt—she hardly ever sees them apart in the weeks that follow the schism. Blake is quiet, and prefers to keep to the edges of conversations, watching rather than participating. She fades into the background. But she's always there whenever he needs something, always two steps behind in case someone challenges him.

A year passes, and she still doesn't know why. He's a good mentor, passionate and bold, and an even better fighter. Blake improves by leaps and bounds, fusing Sienna's and Ilia's styles with his to create something new and unpredictable. She's more a shadow than ever as she slips in and out of SDC holdings with internal memos and secret emails for them to leak to the media.

On Blake's fifteenth birthday, she could find out. Ilia knows. Sienna can see it written on her skin in flickers of green and the dull red-brown of a scab. She's walking quickly, on her way back from watch, fifteen minutes after she was supposed to start.

"Ilia."

She jumps and winces.

"My tent. Now."

Ilia doesn't want to tell her, and Sienna doesn't want to know. How unfortunate for both of them, then, that she owes the Belladonnas better than that. So she sets two tin cups of tea between them and asks, "What did you see?"

All she gets is a surly shrug.

"You're not leaving until you tell me."

Ilia looks away. "It's not important. I'm just overreacting."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Her skin turns a sickly yellow. "I saw them. Together."

"Blake and Adam?"

"Yes."

It's like turning over a log. She knows there's something foul underneath that she doesn't want to see... but it has to be done. "Together how?"

_Please be teenaged jealousy. Please be baseless._

There's a brief silence, while Ilia tries to speak. Sienna grimaces.

_Please say kissing._

She can't say it. So Sienna grits her teeth and asks, "Were they having sex?"

Ilia nods.

_Oh, hell._

"Okay," she says, even though it definitely isn't. "You can go." Ilia bolts out of the tent.

Sienna puts her head in her hands and mutters a few choice curses. She doesn't go after them—she wants to keep Blake out of this, so waits until later that night when he's alone.

He's grinning when he steps into her tent. The smile drops when he notices the look on her face.

"One of the men saw you," she says flatly.

He doesn't bother with denial. "It's fine. We were careful, and we won't let it interfere with our work."

Sienna is silent.

"Why are you looking at me like that? _She_ kissed _me!"_

"You're the _adult,_ Adam! That means it's _your_ responsibility to keep things professional!"

"But I—"

"No." When it looks like he's going to try to speak again, Sienna holds up a hand and he subsides. "You're being reassigned."

_"What?"_

"You're going to the Vale branch. I suggest you take the time to meet people. Make contacts. You have the potential to do a _lot_ of good for the faunus, Adam. I meant it when I said I could see you as my right hand someday. Focus on that."

He snarls at her and storms out of the tent.

She doesn't tell anyone why he's been reassigned. When she thinks about all the recruits he'll bring to their side, all the people he could train and inspire... the Fang needs leaders desperately. He could save a lot of lives. So Sienna lets him go without saying a word.

Some mistakes wait years before they kill you.

It's not carte blanche. She keeps an eye on him through Corsac and Fennec. An isolated incident she could overlook, but if it happens again...

It doesn't. Somehow, it's worse than that.

Blake was his shadow. Now that he's gone, Sienna tries to prod her into making more friends around the camp. But she's shy around people, and always eager to escape conversation with a book. Ilia's the only one left she seems comfortable with, but what she saw has driven a wedge between them. Her crooked cub's grin does not reappear. She's still a shadow.

She used to be more than that. Sienna learns much too late that Blake was also his mercy.

 _"Three?"_ she hisses, hear ears folding flat against her skull. "You can't be serious."

"Like many young acolytes, brother Taurus can be rash," Corsac says, unruffled.

Fennec hums agreement. "His outburst is regrettable, but we've contained the problem. This incident won't be traced back to us."

"That is not the _point._ If he keeps racking up a body count, we'll have to turn him in."

The Albains stare at her. "High Leader, there is no need for such measures," Fennec says. "The humans in question were hardly innocent."

"I don't care how innocent they were. I care about the optics. Being feared is one thing, but this will bring a small army of Hunters down on our heads if we don't shut it down!"

Corsac clears his throat. "With respect, High Leader... this is a problem with a simple solution."

"And what would _that_ be?" Sienna grits out.

"Send us the Belladonna girl."

_"What."_

"He's lonely," Fennec croons. "Lashing out. She gentles him."

Sienna's stomach turns. "No. You two are the branch leaders, so _you_ are going to handle him." She ends the call before they can argue with her.

It's not enough. She didn't see how deep the problem ran until it was too late. Now he's loose, far out of her reach, doing exactly what she told him to—building support.

When there's a police raid on the Mistral branch that leaves it decimated and leaderless, she has no choice but to send Corsac and Fennec. She'd go herself, but the situation is even more dire in Mantle. She'll need to go there, find someone in the ranks she can promote to branch leader. With the Albains gone, the Vale branch is already his. They're so thoroughly charmed they might not take orders from an experienced replacement over him, and Sienna doesn't _have_ an experienced replacement. He's going to take over whether or not she tries to promote one of the other officers, and the last thing the Fang needs right now is a power struggle. Her hands are tied. She has no one to blame but herself.

_Not yet. Don't hate yourself just yet. Leave a little room..._

It seemed so simple when she explained it to Ghira. The White Fang can make all the impassioned speeches and moral arguments it wants, but the only thing the humans in power understand is lien. Their fight comes down to punishment and reward, and simple math. Companies that treat the faunus fairly will find themselves untouched, while those that exploit labor and lobby for discriminatory laws will have to deal with break-ins, sabotage, stolen goods. The moment it's cheaper to treat their people with dignity, the humans will change their tune. Scare them enough, and it might even happen sooner.

All very simple, all very clean, when it's only _things_ on the spreadsheets.

She imagines sitting in front of a set of scales, dropping marbles into one bowl. How many humans will he kill, if left unchecked in Vale? Dozens? Hundreds? More? But which humans? He's not indiscriminate with his targets, after all. He hasn't killed any innocents. Yet.

It will escalate. Conflicts with the police, Vale's Council, Hunters. More marbles. How many of the Fang will die? How many random humans and faunus will get caught in the crossfire? How many children? And what comes after that? Sienna isn't sure they'll survive another Faunus War. In the worst case... it might be thousands. Tens of thousands. More. And that's without taking the Grimm into account.

In the other bowl, there is one black marble.

"Blake."

She looks up from her place by the fire, and her shoulders hunch in on themselves. "Yes?"

"You're being reassigned. To Vale."

For the first time in almost two years, her eyes light up. "I'm—really?"

"Pack your things."

And that's it. She could tell herself it will be alright. That she's a positive influence on him, and he cares about her, so he won't hurt her.

She owes the Belladonnas better than that.

Sienna will not flinch. She will not tell herself a palatable lie. The truth is that she has no idea what will happen, and so long as it will prevent a war, she doesn't care. She just destroyed decades of trust and placed a horrible weight of responsibility on the shoulders of a child, all in nine words. This is unforgivable—so she will not forgive herself.


	5. Adam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhh okay. Yeah. It's uh... it's this chapter now.
> 
> Content warning for, well, Adam Taurus—abusive and manipulative fuckery, gaslighting, etc., and suggestions that this kind of behavior extends into sex. With that said, I would rather jump in a river of fire ants than write smut for this chapter, so I didn't. There's nothing graphic here aside from canon-typical violence (like Adam getting stabby on a couple humans) and two (2) mentions of kissing.

Blake is a coward. She can't help it—it's written on her aura. His semblance is all about embracing the torment the humans want him to suffer, and making them choke on it. Hers helps her escape. Let someone else take the blow. Run. _Hide._

At his worst, it makes him angry. Now, when he finally has her back after all this time, he finds that forgiveness comes easily.

There's no time to enjoy the reunion—they have work to do. She's been in the camp less than an hour before they set out to infiltrate an SDC refinery. It feels so _right,_ fighting with his right hand by his side again. His shadow guarding his back. He's forgotten what it was like.

He's forgotten he has to be careful with her.

It's not the catastrophe it might have been. He twists at the last second and sinks his blade into the guard's shoulder rather than her chest. Better to kill her, now that she's seen them, but he stops himself. He remembers Blake doesn't want to know about that.

She's quiet as the Fang make their escape, and quieter still while they celebrate their victory. A critical piece of machinery is now broken, and the SDC won't be getting any of their blood money out of this refinery for at least a few days before they can replace it. They camp out in an empty apartment, drinking around the space where a holoscreen used to be.

At around midnight, he notices Blake staring off into space. He gets to his feet and offers her a hand. "We'd better get to bed." There's a quiet thrill to saying it out loud like that and seeing only teasing grins, to having their own room and privacy when before...

But before doesn't matter. Sienna won't meddle with them again.

Blake definitely prefers it in here, away from the crowd. Some of the rigidity of her stance melts away. She sits down on the bed, and he sits beside her. "What's wrong?" he asks.

She hugs her arms around herself. "That woman. You... you didn't have to do that."

Adam stares at her, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

Blake bites her lip. "When you—when she—" Even when the human is probably still breathing, she can't bring herself to say it.

"I was careful. We didn't do any permanent damage."

"There was so much blood..."

"It wasn't that serious. I've been hurt worse. Hell, you've been hurt worse. The cut was wide, but it was shallow. She'll be fine."

"But—"

"You're not used to this kind of work. I know that. But..." He leans in close to whisper, "Your semblance doesn't have to define you, Blake. I can help you learn to be brave."

"I don't—I don't understand. She wasn't even armed, we didn't have to—"

"She had a gun, Blake. Remember? It was in her other hand. We had to do it, or she might have hurt you."

"I didn't see the gun..."

"It happened fast. Like I said, you're not used to combat. You'll get better at keeping your head."

He moves his hand down to the small of her back. She turns away.

"I'm sorry. I don't want—I can't stop seeing her face."

"Is that really what this is about?" he asks softly. "You've been distant ever since you got back."

She ducks her head. "I don't mean to be."

"We were apart a long time. Maybe there's someone else."

"What? No!"

"Or maybe..." He brushes his fingers against the edges of his mask, feeling a phantom itch in the ruined flesh beneath. "Maybe it's about _this."_

"No," she insists. "Of course not."

He stays silent. Waiting.

Blake finally looks at him. Her ears are still flat with discomfort, but her expression softens as she cups his cheek. "I love you," she says, and kisses him.

There are moments like this one, when they're alone together and everything feels just right again. But they flicker past much too quickly, growing fewer and further between. Their people need them. How can they rest until the humans are cast down?

"We can't be selfish, Blake," he says, when she nods off over the maps they're studying in their tent. He has to remind her again, when she wastes precious lien on battered books full of stories written by humans, worthless to the cause. It's hard for her to change, but she's trying and he does everything he can to help. He even thinks she's improving. Until over a year after she was returned to him, when the opportunity of a lifetime falls right into their laps.

"Brothers and sisters!" he calls out, raising his hands for silence as rapt faces watch him from around their fire. "We have incredible news tonight. One of our informants has just told us that the SDC will be landing an airship only fifty miles from here. An airship carrying Laurel Price, the regional manager for the kingdom of Vale."

There's a murmur of excitement. Not quite the same reaction a Schnee would've earned—he'll figure out a way to snatch one of them out of their ivory tower someday, but today is not that day. Even so, the regional manager is nothing to sneeze at. "This time tomorrow, we'll have an executive at our mercy. And this time next week, we'll be putting their blood money to good use buying supplies." He smiles. "It's been too long since we had decent coffee out here."

Several eyes glaze over at the thought. Blake goes stiff where she sits at his right hand, glancing around the circle as if to gauge the others' interest. "Paying ransom is against SDC policy."

He frowns. "Since when do you trust the SDC's policy? What do you think would _really_ happen if Jacques Schnee's precious little birdie went missing?"

"That's different. This is some executive, why would he break policy just for her?" Blake shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "I just... I can't see this paying off for us. We might be able to capture her, but the police know we're in this area. She's going to be under heavy guard. Why risk our lives when the Schnees probably won't even pay out?"

More murmuring around the circle. His eyes narrow as he sees a few faunus glancing at her, hesitation kindling in their expressions. Cowardice, it turns out, is dangerously contagious—and Blake is not above undermining him in public.

"Why risk our lives?" He throws an arm out towards the camp. "Why come out here and take a stand?"

Her ears flatten. "I didn't mean—"

"I know you don't like to fight, Blake, but this isn't like you. You're not so selfish."

"It's not just me I'm worried about—"

"It's okay to be afraid." He puts a hand on her shoulder. "But an opportunity like this won't come again. If we decide it's too dangerous to move on their executives when they're out in the open, how will we strike at the Schnees themselves? Would it still be too dangerous if it was Jacques Schnee himself on this ship?"

She looks down and mutters, "No..."

"Don't ask me. Tell them."

Her shoulders curl in on themselves, like she's trying to fold herself out of sight of the ring of staring faunus. "No."

He smiles and puts a hand on her head, brushing his thumb over her ear. "You won't be alone," he promises. "We're in this together."

When he makes a promise to Blake, he keeps it. They're side-by-side at the landing point, so close that he instinctively matches his breathing to hers. The telltale hum of the airship shivers through them, until it finally crests over the treeline and settles into the landing strip just outside town. Not that Creekhollow is much of a town. It's got as many two-storey buildings as it has faunus—none.

He signals to the rest to wait outside. Their job is to keep any of the humans from getting out—he and Blake will find the manager. They slip in through one of the rear windows, with a guard going down without so much as a gasp with her ribbon around his throat. She kneels to check his pulse after she lets go, and Adam hisses at her to keep up.

It's too easy. They walk right through the lower level of the airship, leaving a trail of unconscious guards in their wake. Fighting with Blake is effortless—like having a second set of limbs, always moving just where he needs them at just the right time. It feels perfect.

But Blake isn't perfect. The hilt of her sword smashes into the faceless helmet of one of the guards, knocking it askew. He rips it off and charges at her, and in the instant she sees his face, she hesitates. His gun is in his right hand, coming up towards her chest.

Adam is faster. Wilt's tip slides through a chink in the boy's armor, then between his ribs. He chokes, spits out blood, and slumps to the floor. He twists the blade as he pulls it out, the quiet _shik_ of steel on flesh sending a jolt down his spine.

Blake is his, and no one will hurt her. Especially not a weak, pathetic creature like this one. His lip curls as he looks down at the body, savoring the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears. No one will take what's his again. No one will make him kneel and hold his arms behind his back and yank on his hair until he raises his chin—

He breathes in the scent of iron and turns, his whole body flush with rage and relief, adrenaline and victory. His hand finds Blake's chin and tilts it up so he can kiss her.

The shove catches him so off-guard that he falls flat on his ass. He stares up at her—there's a red smear on her jaw that his thumb left behind. Then she dissolves into shadow.

Adam lurches to his feet and rushes to a nearby hatch that's still hanging open. Blake is sprinting towards the cover of the woods, past the bushes where their people have taken cover. He hesitates, one hand on Wilt's hilt. Then he swears viciously and jumps out after her. The airship takes off while he's running.

He finds her just behind their line, leaning against a tree, panting and holding a hand over her mouth. She's been sick once already, and looks about ready to do it again. The others are staring at her in concern.

"What happened?" the Lieutenant rumbles.

Adam glances over his shoulder. The airship is already little more than a speck in the distance. His hands clench into fists. He strides over, seizes Blake by the shoulder, and slaps her across the face.

There's a long, ringing silence.

"I knew you were a coward," he snarls. "But _this?_ This was our _only chance_ to take such a valuable hostage, and you threw it away!"

She hardly seems to notice being struck. The others are all staring at them, and their gazes harden when Blake makes no attempt to defend herself. She knows she's guilty, and they can sense it.

He turns away in disgust. "Come on. We need to get out of here before the police show up."

It's a long time before they're alone. He has to speak to the rest of the camp—he doesn't mention Blake by name, but the others that were with them will talk. Everyone will know by morning.

His anger has cooled by the time he reaches the quiet of their tent. He's ready to accept her apology—until she turns on him and snaps, "What was that?"

"What was that?" he repeats, in disbelief. _"You're_ asking _me?"_

This time, she doesn't flinch. Just meets his eyes, her arms folded protectively around her stomach.

"Do you want me to let them kill you, next time?" Adam demands. "Should I have saved us all some trouble and left you there for the police?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Her hand comes up to her mouth.

"I was _relieved."_

"You didn't look relieved."

"If you have something to say," he grits out, "just say it."

"Do you feel guilty?"

"Do I feel guilty for saving your life?"

 _"No._ Do you feel guilty for killing someone?"

"It's the same thing."

"It's _not."_ She bites her lip. "You've been so... so _angry,_ lately, I don't—"

"Angry." His voice is flat, but she must read something in it because she tries to back away. He catches her wrist. "That's what this is, then."

"That's not what I—"

He rips off the mask. Blake turns her head, her eyes squeezed shut. "I know you have good reason to be," she murmurs.

"Look at it."

"But it's—it's different when you're hurting people, Adam. I can't just—"

_"Look at it."_

She raises her gaze, slowly, like she's the one shouldering a great weight. He can see his ruined eye reflected in hers. Their mark. Their fatal mistake.

"Is that it?" he asks softly. "You want to be just like them, huh? Treating me like a mad bull whenever I hit back?"

Her eyes flick down. "That's not what I meant."

_"Look!"_

"I know!" She tugs at his grip on her arm. "I know, but—"

"You think they'll spare you if you act like a good little pet? Like your parents?"

"No," she whispers, and shuts her eyes. He squeezes her wrist and she opens them again.

"Do you think I should roll over and let them hurt me? Let them hurt _you?"_

"No. But..."

"Tch." He drops her arm. "You don't care at all, do you?"

Her eyes drop back to the floor. "I do. It's why I came here."

"It's alright, Blake. You don't have to lie to me. I know what you are, and I love you anyway."

"I didn't ask you to," she mutters, and walks out of the tent.

It's the first time she hasn't said it back.


	6. Sun

Blake is lost. Sun's not judging, or anything—he's lost too, in a maze of eye-rolls and half-smiles and stony silences. It's a maze that moves. Every time he thinks he understands her, _boom!_ The hedges grow into each other and he's back where he started. Surrounded by thorns.

He's not complaining, either. She's a lot more fun to be lost in than what she's running from. But it gets frustrating to watch. She's literally surrounded by people who care about her, and she just... won't see it. Kali makes her breakfast and she trips over herself apologizing for not getting up earlier. Ghira leaves his study door open for her, and her mom still has to trick her into going in by giving her snacks for him. Sun does try to talk to her like a normal person, but it's like they're speaking completely different languages. He wants to understand so badly. That's where things start going wrong.

"I didn't _ask_ you to follow me," she snaps at him. "It's hard enough talking to them without you listening in!" That _was_ an honest accident. At first. He only paused behind the door for a second... but she's right. He's gotta back off.

So he walks on eggshells and he tries not to cross boundaries, but he's never sure where they are until he's already fucked something up. And sometimes... sometimes curiosity gets the better of him. He just wants to know why she thinks everything is her fault—that way he can show her it isn't.

Ironically, he's pretty sure it's getting stabbed that lets him make the most progress on that front. Which, _ow,_ but also— _worth it!_ At least, it is once he can get her to stop looking at his shoulder like she was the one holding the knife. Whip? Whatever.

That night he's still flushed with success, and painkillers, and like an idiot he pushes too far again. "That girl. She's a friend of yours, right?"

"Yeah." Blake doesn't look up from Ilia's scroll.

"Got any other friends around? I mean, you met Neptune, and Sage and Scarlet—"

"No."

"C'mon, there's gotta be someone you played with as a kid, right? I swear, I'm only _sorta_ fishing for embarrassing stories here."

"There's _not,_ Sun."

He freezes. He's learning—too slowly—to recognize that tone. It's new since the fall of Beacon, and it means he's stepped on a landmine by accident. Except that for once he might actually know why. "Sorry," he says quickly. "I get that might be a sore subject, since he... uh..."

Her ears go flat. Sun's _so_ glad she's stopped hiding them—and not just because they're beautiful, either. They're pretty much the only way he can read her moods nowadays. "Who told you about that?"

Ah. _Shit._

"Your mom."

Blake lurches to her feet and paces back and forth across the carpet, gripping her right arm tightly with her left. "What did she tell you?"

"His name. That's it, I swear! Um, and kind of what he looks like. And that you were... y'know."

_"Sun!"_

"I'm sorry! I was just trying to figure out why it got to you so much. And I get it now! I mean, if somebody I used to care about went over to the dark side like that, I'd be pretty pissed too."

"I'm not _angry!"_

She looks angry, and waves a hand for emphasis. He doesn't mean to flinch, would do anything to take it back the instant it happens. Blake stumbles back, horrified, and hits the desk. A pencil-holder falls over and shatters on the floor.

"I—"

"Blake?" Ghira pounds on the door. "Everything alright in there?"

"Y-yeah." Her eyes dart around the room. "I knocked something over, that's all."

Silence, and Ghira's footsteps on the stairs.

"Uh," Sun says, and Blake crumples.

"I—I'm _so_ sorry, I don't—why didn't you say anything?" She slumps against the wall and grabs her wrist hard enough to bruise. "No, that's—that's so _stupid,_ it's not your responsibility to—"

Sun scrambles off the bed. "Hey," he says, trying for a grin. "You were right, about privacy and stuff, so. I did kinda have it coming."

And _oh gods,_ he's somehow found the worst possible thing to say. Her hand twists, her nails digging into her arm, and her breathing comes fast and harsh. Sun scrambles to fix his mistake—"I mean, it's okay! Really! I've got my aura, remember? It barely even hurt!"

It's like speaking another language, a language where every word means _your fault, your fault_ and everything he says makes it so much worse. He's panicking too, now, and her nails draw blood like her aura isn't even there.

"I'm sorry!" He doesn't know what to do. So he jerks to his feet and runs to the door and shouts, "Mrs. Belladonna!"

Kali is up the stairs in a heartbeat, shooing him out of the room. The last glimpse Sun gets is of her gathering Blake into a hug. Then the door swings shut and he's alone in the hallway with Ghira. Trying not to break and run under his glare.

After what feels like hours, Kali opens the door again and slips out. "She's alright," she whispers. "But I think it's best if you give her a few minutes before you talk to her."

"I'm really sorry!" Sun can't look at either of them. "I didn't want to upset her, I swear! I just wanted her to feel better."

"I know, dear." Kali hugs him. "That's what scared her."

Is that supposed to make sense to him? Sun opens his mouth to ask, then stops himself. Stuff like that is what got him into this mess in the first place. He has to wait for Blake to tell him. Can't go climbing over her hedges to find her—all he can do is give her his voice to follow.

There's a grunt from somewhere above him. Sun risks a glance over his shoulder and fights the urge to curl into a ball and hide.

 _"Ghira,"_ Kali says, and shoos him down the stairs. "Neither of them need _that_ right now."

Sun sits in the hallway alone, staring at the door. Ten minutes later, when he can't stand it anymore, he gets up and knocks.

"...Come in."

He eases it open gingerly, like something might explode if he moves too fast. Blake's sitting on her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. Sun plops down next to her and says, "Hey."

She rubs her wrist. The marks have already faded into thin pink crescents, now that her aura is taking care of them. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm—"

"Sun." Blake grabs his hand. "None of that was your fault. I—I shouldn't have hit you like that. I should have just talked to you."

"I mean..." Sun swallows. "That... sounds like a better idea. For the future, y'know. But I meant it when I said it wasn't a big deal. I know you're going through a lot right now, and I don't wanna add to that."

"You're not. And you don't have to put up with something like that, okay?" She squeezes his hand once, then pulls away. "Not from anyone. _Especially_ not from someone you care about."

His first instinct is to play it off. It really doesn't bother him, and it hurts to see her so upset about it. But, well, definition of insanity and all.

"I forgive you," he says instead.

"You shouldn't."

"Hey. My choice, remember?"

"It's easy to make excuses," she mutters, "but some people aren't worth it."

Sun sighs. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe me, and your mom and dad, and Ruby and Weiss, and Yang—maybe we're all wrong and you're not worth it." He gives her a sideways hug. "But I don't think we are. And... maybe you could trust us on this? Even if you don't believe in yourself yet."

Her breath hitches, and she leans into his shoulder. The good one, thankfully, because he really doesn't want to find out what would happen if she jostled his bad one by accident. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he says. Because he's not sure he'll ever learn his way around her maze—but he'll keep looking as long as she needs.


	7. Yang

Blake is broken.

There's a lot of that going around lately. Yang can't look in the mirror without remembering everything she was—should be—isn't.

Sometimes it helps, having her dad around, and sometimes it really doesn't. He knows what it's like to sit in bed for hours wondering why it's so hard to swing his legs over the side and _get up._ But didn't he get through so much worse than this? Isn't it fucked up that she's shutting down over a few pounds of flesh and bone like that could ever compare to Summer?

She admits all that, one night. And he smiles and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, "You got me through it. Remember? You're way stronger than me, Yang. You're gonna be okay." And she will. Probably. Breaking wasn't the end of his story, after all... but it sure as hell feels like the end of her own. How is she supposed to believe it'll be better someday when she can't even imagine what better would look like?

The simple answer seems to be that she can't, but life keeps happening to her anyway. There's the day she picks up the broom for the first time. The morning she finally gets up the courage to put on her new arm. The moment she climbs on Bumblebee and does what the Yang she used to be would have done, in a way that Yang wouldn't have known to do it. Somewhere in there, somehow, she stops hating herself.

It's amazing how much easier it is to get better when she actually feels like she deserves to. How good it is to feel steady again. And how it only takes one look at Blake to unravel it all, like the tide came in and knocked her off her feet. She's not sure which way is up, anymore. Or how to breathe.

Okay. Okay, so she's not as better as she thought she was. That doesn't mean she can't get her own bag. She doesn't need Blake hovering like this, like her dad used to when she first woke up. Like she's still broken. She's _not._ Not anymore. And if it's getting a little harder to act whole in front of the others, well. That's for her to know.

It's late at night. She's on her back on the floor, her left arm folded across her stomach and her right splayed out as wide as it'll go, which isn't very since her prosthetic is on a counter ten feet away. It reminds her uncomfortably of Brunswick, but there's no helping it. Saphron and Terra only have the one guest bed and the couch, and Maria and Qrow claimed those. She's just glad team RWBY is sleeping in the kitchen rather than the basement.

Well. Some of them are sleeping. Yang sighs and turns over onto her side. _It's fine,_ she grumbles at herself. _You can sleep now. You'll wake up._ She shuts her eyes and listens to the others breathe. Weiss is muttering softly from where she's stretched out under the kitchen table with one of the couch cushions. Ruby is curled up in the open doorway that leads to the hall. It's a good thing she tends to wake up early, because someone's definitely going to trip over her tomorrow morning. Blake...

There's a sharp intake of breath. Yang's eyes snap open.

For a second she thinks she must have imagined it—but then it happens again, quieter this time. Blake is keeping her breathing as slow and deep as she can, but every so often it hitches and stutters. Like she's trying to cry without making any noise. She's very, very good at it.

Yang pushes herself up onto her elbow, but Blake's on her right side and it's hard to look over and keep her balance at the same time. So she sits up all the way, her eyes straining into the dark. The shaky breathing stops.

It's so quiet that making a sound feels wrong. Yang scoots closer, every movement glacially slow, like she's moving through a dream. Then she's finally close enough to make out Blake's outline. She's on her side, facing the wall, her arms tucked around her stomach. Looking sound asleep, except for the fact that she's still holding her breath.

"Blake?"

She must sense the jig is up, because she whispers back, "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't."

Yang waits for a while for Blake to say something. She doesn't. A year ago, she could've just reached out and squeezed her shoulder. A year ago, she could've pulled her into a two-armed hug. A year ago, she wouldn't have been crying on Jaune's sister's kitchen floor in the first place.

"What's wrong?" she asks instead.

Blake lets out a shaky breath. "I hope you don't expect the whole ten page essay right now."

Yang rubs her right bicep, just above the cap. "Maybe just the summary."

"I guess I'm a little shaken up. But it's fine, really."

There's a heavy silence. Both of them are thinking about the long clawed fingers reaching out, the leaden paralysis. Blake's dull acceptance.

"It's okay not to be okay."

"I know," Blake says, too quickly.

"I'm here. Whatever you need."

"It's okay. Really. You should go back to sleep."

Old Yang would have known just how to push. New Yang chokes on the fear of going too far and waking up to an empty space, and goes back to sleep.

What follows is the longest day of her life—but somehow that night she doesn't pass out the instant her head hits the pillow.

It's dark, or as dark as it ever gets in the city that never sleeps. She's out on a balcony, bracing herself against the railing and the bitter Atlesian wind. Trying to freeze away that same nightmare. She doesn't hear anything, but something tells her to turn, and when she does Blake is standing in the doorway with her hands tucked under her arms.

"H-hey," she says, wincing as another gust picks up.

"Hey."

Yang starts to shrug out of her coat, and Blake puts both hands out. "No, no. You don't have to—"

She sighs. And then, before she can think better of it, she holds it open instead. Blake tucks herself in under her arm. For a minute they just stand there, and she's so cold that it shocks Yang right out of her thoughts. The ghosts of her dream fade. But once her partner stops shivering, there's nothing to distract her from the fluttering warmth in the pit of her stomach.

"Couldn't sleep?" Blake asks.

"Nah. It's way too cold in there."

"So you... went outside."

"Yep!"

"Right." Blake smirks. Then it fades into a frown, and she leans further into Yang's side. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Yeah," she admits, glancing away. "It's fine, though. They're getting better."

Blake's quiet for a while. They stand there, looking out towards distant lights in the sky. Not stars, not this close to the city. Just the fleet.

"You can talk to me, you know." Blake fiddles with the zipper of the jacket. "What I said about protecting each other... I didn't mean just on the battlefield."

"They're getting better," Yang says again. Because they should be. Blake is back and Adam is dead, and maybe they won't go away just like that, but they should be getting _better._

"...Okay."

She waits, expecting Blake to head back inside and go back to sleep. Instead, Yang feels the weight of her head on her shoulder. "I'm here," she murmurs. "Whatever you need."

Isn't it funny? She's said that to Blake so many times, but hearing it scares her more than Salem.

Blake sighs and pulls away—not completely, just enough to turn so Yang can't see her face. "I'm sorry. I know I'm probably the last person you want to open up to right now."

"Huh?"

"And I don't want to push, I just hope you'll talk to someone. Maybe Ruby or Weiss?"

"Blake." Yang squeezes her shoulder. "That's not what I meant. I'm fine."

She doesn't say anything. Probably because they both know that's not true.

"I _will_ be fine," Yang corrects herself. "I've had this stupid nightmare enough times to know how this works. I'll be tired and out of it for a bit, but I'll be better by tomorrow. There's no point unloading on someone else."

Blake frowns, but she doesn't argue this time. She moves as if to go towards the door.

"Wait." Yang swallows. "What... what was that?"

"What?" But Blake won't meet her eye, which means she knows exactly what.

"Why would you be the last person I'd want to talk to?"

Her shoulders curl in. "I only meant... it makes sense if you're not ready to trust me yet."

"I thought we were past this. That's what it means to protect each other—it's trusting each other."

"I'm sorry. I—"

"Blake." Yang takes her hand and squeezes it. "I'm not angry. I'm really not. I just wish you'd stop punishing yourself. I want to move on. I want to go back to normal."

"I don't."

Yang flinches back. But Blake doesn't turn on her heel and disappear back inside—she stands her ground.

"Normal was me taking and taking everything you had to give, like some kind of _parasite._ I won't do that again. I won't take you for granted like that. And if you don't want to talk about something, that's okay. You don't owe me anything. But I can't let you take care of me like before. I have to earn it."

Yang opens her mouth to push back—love shouldn't be something you _earn._ She doesn't want something transactional. But there's a difference between trading and reciprocating, and... when was the last time she reciprocated? Not the caring and support she likes to give other people, but the vulnerability that comes from letting someone else take care of her. She's done it with Weiss, and with her dad... but only when she had to. Only when there was nothing left of her to give.

She shuts her eyes. "I'm scared," she admits. "I don't know why. It's easier to focus on other people, and let my problems sort themselves out."

Blake leans against the railing, shivering when her palms touch cold metal. "Does it feel like they'll leave, if you admit you need them?"

All the breath whooshes out of her at once. "Oh."

"I won't. No one will, Yang—you deserve everything you give to other people, a thousand times over."

It's suddenly very difficult to speak. "Yeah. Well. You deserve all that, too. You don't have to earn it like you said."

"Don't I?"

"You've made mistakes, but so have I. You think I never wished my dad would've kicked my ass for letting Ruby go off alone like that?"

"It's not the same."

"No," Yang says, thinking of her talk with Weiss. "It's not. But even if your regrets are heavier than most, we all have them. And maybe... maybe you could forgive yourself someday, like you'd forgive someone else."

Blake's silence is telling.

Yang sighs and tilts her head back, staring out into the night sky. It looks so empty without the stars, but the shattered moon shines bright and beautiful.

"Do you ever feel broken?"

Blake makes a noise—the scornful half-laugh she reserves only for herself. "All the time."

"I did too. For a really long time."

"But you're not! You're strong, Yang. You're not broken."

It's the way she says it—something clicks into place, and Yang finally understands what's been missing all this time. Why it's felt so much like speaking _almost_ the right language whenever she tries to banish Blake's self-loathing. Yang knows that a break is an event—a knock at the door that tears the world apart at its seams. Someone's taught Blake that broken is something you _are._

"I was," she says, and smiles. "For a long time it felt like I was going in circles—I could only start to get better once I stopped hating myself." She risks a glance to her left, and puts her arm back around Blake's shoulders. "I wish I knew how, so I could tell you. I wish you could see yourself like I do. Because you _are_ worth it, Blake. And being broken doesn't mean your story ends. You keep on growing, and changing, and healing."

Blake looks away. "I can't. I'm sorry, I just... can't."

"Then... trust that I believe that. Trust me to choose who I think is worth caring about."

"You're doing it again."

"Huh?"

Blake moves in closer. Her eyes are narrowed, and there's a fierceness in them that Yang hasn't seen in a long time. "If I'm really worth anything, you need to trust me when I tell you that you could never ask too much from me. Because you deserve so much more than all of me, and even if you don't think that, I do. I won't give up on you if you need help."

"Okay." It comes out as a croak. Yang swallows. "Okay," she says again, and this time she can feel the strength of it, like roots spreading out from her feet to anchor her. "I trust you."

Blake's eyes catch the moonlight, and for an instant they glow from the inside. "I trust you, too."

It's like a wall comes down between them. Not that it's all fixed—Yang still has to swallow that spike of anxiety whenever Blake asks if she's okay and the answer is no. But for the first time it feels like they've stopped chasing the impossible hope of getting back to where they were. Even if in some ways they're not there yet, in other ways they're _better._

The only trouble is that Yang's old crush—the one she's been trying unsuccessfully to kill since the fall of Beacon—doesn't feel like a crush anymore. It's gotten deeper and stronger and scarier than that.

But it's _fine._ Completely and totally fine! Until Blake taps her on the shoulder, the morning of their first real mission in Atlas, and Yang goes completely nonverbal. It turns out her hair is even curlier when it doesn't have gravity weighing it down, and with most of it gone her ears are much more prominent. They're half perked, which gives her expression a nervous, hopeful look even though she's trying to keep it neutral.

"I've been thinking about what you said."

There are a lot of stupid things Yang could respond with. By the time she realizes that, "Cool!" is one of them, it's already too late.

Blake's eyes flick down, and Yang notices for the first time that she's holding out her sword. The whole thing, now—there's a band of gold around the place where it snapped.

"Oh," she breathes. Which is also an incredibly stupid thing to say.

"It's called Kintsugi. I guess... I wanted a reminder that it's okay to be a little broken sometimes."

Yang realizes what's about to come out of her mouth just soon enough to be horrified by how cheesy it is... but not soon enough to stop it. "It's beautiful." She is definitely not looking at the sword.

Blake has definitely noticed. She brushes a lock of hair self-consciously behind her ear... but she's smiling. All of a sudden the sick mess of anxiety in the pit of Yang's stomach melts away. It's been so lonely, running the thought of them over and over in her head without quite knowing what they should be to one another. Now she thinks she doesn't have to. They can figure that out together.

The silence has gone on a beat too long. "I like your hair," Yang says softly.

"Thanks." Blake's smile goes wide and crooked in a way Yang's never seen before—and wants to see again, every day for the rest of their lives. "I guess I wanted a change, too."

Over the next few weeks they gravitate towards one another, so slowly that they don't have to acknowledge that they're moving at all. It makes everything new, which she thinks is exactly what Blake needs. At the same time, when they go to a club with loud music and louder people and dance like a pair of teenagers with nothing more important to do, it feels very normal. Which is exactly what Yang's been missing.

It probably should've occurred to at least one of them that luxuriating in the time they have might not be a great idea when they're fighting a war against an ancient evil Grimm goddess. But it didn't, and it's a long time before they have a moment to themselves again.

Blake steals it for them by grabbing Yang's arm and leading her away from the others the first time there's enough of a lull in the action. Like most lulls in the action these days, it's the calm before the storm. "This isn't a goodbye," she says, and doesn't let go. "I just... I know I haven't been able to talk about it. This. You and me."

"You don't have to. We've talked about the really important stuff, right?"

"You're so patient."

Yang can't help her incredulous laugh. "Nobody's ever called me _that_ before."

Blake smirks. "You don't say."

"I mean, people have told me I'm _im-_ patient. And stubborn, and reckless, and—"

Blake steps closer, and Yang forgets what she was going to say.

"Close your eyes."

She does—and now Blake is so close she can feel it. One of her hands slides over her shoulder. The other cups her jaw, and she must feel Yang's heart racing because she pauses. "Is this okay?"

Yang _definitely_ can't talk right now, so she leans forward. Just enough to show her, _yes._ It's a little too far—they bump noses, and Blake laughs, and she's still smiling when she presses their lips together.

It's several minutes before they come back to themselves, reluctantly, because Weiss is yelling at them to, "Get in here and tell Jaune his plan is terrible!"

"Well," Blake sighs. "That was nice while it lasted."

Yang groans and rests their foreheads together. Her chest aches like her heart is trying to stop itself, like if it only could then this moment would never end. Because once it ends they'll be in another moment, and then another, a whole terrifying future full of unpredictable moments. She doesn't want for them to be broken again.

But they can't be invulnerable. All they can do is try and fail and try again, and trust themselves to wear their cracks and dents with grace.


End file.
